The Gray and the Blue
by ExcessivelySesquipedalian
Summary: A story of childhood happiness, heartbreak and betrayal leading to a war in which men became heroes, when the laws of wrong and right were tested, where brother turned against brother… America and American South/Confederacy. Some swearing, character death
1. 1600's

**Well, hello, fanfiction people. You all need to thank (or curse) my buddies Darkeh and Skittles, because if not for Skittles this story's main character would have been abandoned, and if not for Darkeh being _annoying_ this story would never have been posted. So, without further ado, the happy cute beginnings of my angstiest fic yet. Cheers!**

**((this story will have some cussing, serious angst, and character death, so if you don't want that don't read it. No shipping though))**

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><p><em>~Early Seventeenth Century~<em>

"Alright, America," the blond man said, shrugging on his jacket. "I'll be back in an hour or two. Be careful, okay?"

"You got it, Britain," America assured him. The smaller boy clung tightly to his brother's hand, nervously shuffling his feet. "You promise you'll be back soon?"

Britain sighed, and kneeled down. He hugged America tightly, whispering into his ear, "I've always come back before, haven't I? You just make sure to be right here when I return." He stood, ruffled his little brother's hair fondly, and stepped out onto the front path of the house, shutting the door behind him. The fresh, wild air of the New World filled his lungs as he breathed deeply, wanting one last moment to enjoy this beautiful land before he headed home.

Meanwhile, America rocketed up the stairs to a large window on the landing of the upper floor. From here, all of the house's surroundings could be seen for what seemed to be an eternity, fields and forests finally fading into a distance ringed by mountains. America scanned the road, and then began waving energetically to his big brother as he trudged up the path to the distant road and his own home. Britain, used to this ritual, waved back until the path vanished into a stand of trees.

For a second, America leaned precariously out of the window, verifying that Britain had indeed left; then he jumped off the sill and ran to the stairs, sliding down the banister in his haste. The little nation dashed down the hallway, narrowly avoiding furniture, and skidded into the kitchen at breakneck speed. He began rifling through the cupboards, snatching up any food items he thought wouldn't be missed, and wrapped them in a handkerchief, glad for once that his fussy brother made him carry them all the time. He gathered up the package and scampered off again, his bare feet pattering rapidly on the floor.

America didn't bother to put on shoes as he dashed out the door, heading straight off into the wilderness of fields and thickets. The tall grass swayed far over his head as he ventured out, much farther than he ever did with Britain around. He leapt small streams and avoided hazards with an agility that belied his small size, running as fast as he could.

Finally he broke out of the last line of trees and found himself in the largest open field yet, a massive space that smelled sweetly of wildflowers and dried grass. At first he panicked, unable to see over the greenery, and not hearing anything other than its rustling and swaying in the wind.

_Has he left? Am I too late?_ he wondered frantically. He looked around and shouted, "South? Where are you?"

"Right here, dummy," a voice said from behind him. He wheeled, and giggled, relieved. There, seated nonchalantly in the dust, was an equally small boy. The two looked remarkably alike; they had the same face, the same bright eyes and huge grin. In fact, they would have been identical if not for three things; the other boy seemed a year or two older than America, and had darker, slightly curlier hair, brown rather than blond. Also, his gaze was, even at his young age, tempered with a little more wisdom and solemnity than that of America, his younger brother.

The last of these disappeared as he flung himself at America, laughing. "North! Yaaay! I thought you'd never show up!"

"Sorry," the younger of the two giggled. "I had to stay until Britain left. I needed to say goodbye to him."

Instantly the joy faded from South's eyes, and he kicked at the ground with his bare feet, scowling.

America realized his mistake and grabbed his brother's sleeve, saying frantically, "Hey, don't worry! It's not that I love him more than you or anything!"

South raised his eyes to the other's, and smiled a little, apologetically. "'S'okay," he said. "Did you bring anything?"

"Yeah!" America suddenly remembered his parcel. "Gotcha some food this time, and some other stuff."

"Thanks!" South dug eagerly into the food, as ignorant as his brother of its appalling quality. America watched him, quiet for once. Then he spoke, sadly.

"So… what happened? Why weren't you here last time? Are you-" he hesitated. "Are you living with Spain or France now?"

South was silent for a moment. "I'm still with Spain," he muttered. "But France won't give up. Sooner or later he'll end up with more of my land, or Spain will have to go home and check his other colonies and he'll come get me."

"France isn't that bad!" America attempted to cheer his brother up. "I visit him with…" he searched for a name. "…with Canadia sometimes. He's another big brother for me, just like you and Britain!"

"It's not that I don't like him," South pouted, "it's that he doesn't care who I want to stay with. I'd be happy to live with him and Spain, but they ignore me and keep fighting…" He flopped down into the grass, his hair falling across his eyes. "And I wish that I could go live with you for a while. I'm just so sick of people keeping us apart."

"Britain would let you, you know," America told South. "He's got some people living down near you, hasn't he? And if I'm your brother, and he's my brother, he must be your brother too!" He beamed, proud of his logic.

"I'd like that," South said distractedly. "You make him sound… nice. Like a good big brother."

"I should hope so."

South looked up, and his bright blue eyes met two vibrant green ones. He shrieked, and curled up into a tiny ball, yelling, "WAAAAAH! Don't eat me! I'll be good, I promise!"

"Britain!" America was just as shocked. "How did you find us?"

"You're not particularly hard to follow, love," Britain said, sitting down next to them and folding his legs, "although you are bloody fast."

America looked away from his brother, his head low. Tears burned his eyes, and he squeezed them tightly shut, knowing that now Britain would be furious with him, furious for not telling him about his brother, for stealing, for sneaking off into the woods at every opportunity. But to his surprise, he simply felt a hand reach out and touch his shoulder gently.

"Hey," Britain said quietly. He didn't seem mad at all; rather, there was a soft look in his eyes America had only rarely seen there, mostly when Britain thought he was asleep or not paying attention. "Mind introducing us?"

"C'mon, South!"

South felt someone shake him, but he just curled into a tighter ball. "G'way!" he wailed.

"It's alright, he's not gonna hurt you! Please trust me, South?"

He hesitated, and then nervously sat up, eyeing the stranger before him. He seemed impossibly tall, and his eyebrows were frankly frightening, but his eyes and his smile were kind, and instinctively South trusted him. He reached out cautiously, and took the hand the man offered.

"Hello," the blond man smiled. "I'm Britain. It's very nice to meet you, young sir."

"Britain," he heard North saying, "this is my big brother… he's the south of the land… y'know, where France and Spain live. Oh, and Virginia and the Carolinas too."

"Is that so?" Britain regarded him intently. "Wouldn't you be one of my colonies, then?"

The little boy looked away. "Yeah," he muttered. "But big brother Spain says that since his territories are so much bigger I have to live with him."

"Spain would say that," Britain sighed.

"Frère France says the same thing," South continued. "And then they fight each other, and I get mad and they don't care."

"I heard you saying." Britain mused. America squeezed himself in between the two of them and sat there happily.

"Hey, Britain?" The boy looked at him. He looked just like his own America, but with older eyes, he thought- eyes too mature for a child of his age. His voice was quiet and trusting. "Are you my big brother?"

"Hmm?" The European nation glanced at the boy, surprised.

"Well… if you're North's big brother…" he flicked a pebble across the ground distractedly. "Like he says… aren't you mine too?"

"Would you like me to be?" Britain asked him frankly.

South appeared to contemplate it for a moment. "I'm not sure," he replied honestly. "North says you're nice, and I trust him, and you seem nice. But so far, everybody who's been my big brother- even the nice ones- has kept me apart from North. I _hate_ that," he said with conviction. "I love Spain, and I love France, but they want me to decide between them- which is bad enough- and then they don't listen to my decision."

"What did you decide?"

South wrapped his arms around his little brother, who was being unusually quiet. "I chose North."

He knew it was a bad idea. He knew that it would put him through hell with the other nations. But he decided right then and there that he was not allowing America's brother to walk away from this alone, not allowing them to be separated again.

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><p>"Ah, <em>merde<em>…" France broke through a bush and with a loud crash fell out onto the ground, a small dust cloud rising around him. He sat up, rubbing his head and muttering under his breath, "_Je pense que je suis vraiment perdu maintenant… oh, mon dieu… ou est Senor Ane, alors?..._" Gingerly he stood, and brushed himself off. Then he whirled as he heard another crash coming from the opposite direction, and his eyes narrowed as he saw a familiar form approaching through the undergrowth.

In seconds, Spain and France were eyeing each other warily from across the small clearing, pretending to be at ease but both mentally readying themselves for a fight. Spain spoke first, grinning disarmingly. "_Buenos dias_, France. Nice of you to invite me here today."

France scowled. "As if I would invite you anywhere. Why did you wish to speak to me?"

Spain paused, his brow furrowing. "You sent me a letter, asking me to come here at this time today."

"No, _idiote_, you sent me a message!"

"You're both wrong," somebody said off to France's left. Both of them turned to see Britain leaning against a tree, watching them bemusedly. "I sent them."

France hissed, frustrated. "_Mange merde et morte, Angleterre_!" he spat. "I have no time for your games!"

Britain crossed his arms. "I'm not playing games. It was simply the easiest way to get both of you out here."

"And why did you need to do that?" Spain was still grinning, but there was a more dangerous edge to it now.

Sighing, Britain rubbed his forehead. "I need to talk to you. Without fighting, please. Nation to nation."

"What about?" France did not relax.

His longtime rival simply sighed again. "Francis…Antonio…"

At this, both of them let down their guard a little. If he had used their names, he was telling the truth.

But then Britain continued, and their hands went straight back to their weapons. "It's about America's brother. South."

"So that's your game, eh, _Angleterre_?" France spat on the ground and glared at Britain. "You're not satisfied with your _Amerique_. You want my little one too?"

"He's not yours," Spain retorted, gripping his axe tightly. "Neither of you are getting him."

"He's going to come live with me, thank you very much!"

"No, South is staying with me!"

"He's not going with either of you!" Both rounded on Britain, who stared back resolutely.

"What claim do you have on him?" France demanded. "A few scattered settlements in Virginia and little else! Whereas I have all of Louisiana. Even the Spaniard has more of a right than you."

The Englishman rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand wearily. "This isn't about territory," he insisted. "It's not about claims, or land, or custody, or rights. It's about a little boy." He took two steps forward, grabbed France's shoulder, and spun him to face Spain. "Look at you two! You used to be such great friends, and now you're squabbling over colonies like a pair of pigeons over a crumb. You realize that who he lives with doesn't affect who owns what, right?"

Britain took a step back, and spread his arms wide. "I'm not here to steal land, and I'm not here to fight. I'm here to ask if I can take a little boy to the brother he misses. I'm asking if I can reunite two children. I'm asking-" he looked pointedly at the two of them- "if I can take a little boy away from the two older brothers he loves, and can't stand to see fight, just long enough for them to work out their problems."

Spain and France exchanged a look, a little ashamedly. Neither of them wanted to admit it, but he was right.

"I mean, don't you have other children to look after, Spain?" Britain raised one eyebrow at him. "That little terror you dote on all the time. You haven't gone back to see him in what, two months? How do you think he feels about that? That you left him to fight here, essentially saying that you cared more about another kid than him."

That did it for Spain. He let the hand holding his axe drop limply to his side, the weapon's point making circles in the dust. He looked up and then quickly glanced away, and then mumbled, "Y-you're right. I've been stupid… sí, amigo. If France agrees to it… let South go see his brother."

France bit his lip. Still glaring at Britain, he was silent for a moment, and then demanded, "He really misses him that much?"

"My America… his brother… he told me he cries," Britain said awkwardly.

"You will take good care of him?" France pressed.

"I swear on my mother's grave," Britain replied solemnly. His green eyes flashed slightly as he said it, although France put it down to a trick of the light. He didn't really want to give up his little brother. But… if what the arrogant _rosbif_ said was true… how could he say no?

"Fine," he sighed finally. Then, refusing to acknowledge his longtime rival any longer, he turned back to Spain and stuck out a hand.

"Truce, mon ami?"

Spain grinned sunnily and shook it. "Always."

The duo walked off, chatting and laughing like they always had, leaving Britain to shake his head in bewilderment at them. But he had done it! He smiled, exhilarated, thinking of how America would react when he found out his brother was coming home.

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><p>"Romano? Boss is home…" Spain peered around the doorway. "Roma? Where are you?"<p>

"Tu bastardo!" A reddish blur slammed into his legs, causing him to stagger backwards and almost knocking him over. "Where the hell have you been? I've been all alone here for months!" Little fists slammed repeatedly against his shins.

"Romano!" He knelt down and scooped up the protesting toddler. "I'm so sorry! I was…" He searched for the right word, and found it. "Lost."

His charge glared up at him. "_Che palle_! That's just like you, going off and getting lost and leaving me here."

"Huh?" Spain rubbed a thumb across Romano's face, making the boy squirm and protest. "You're crying!"

"I am not!" Romano shouted. Then he began to cry even harder. "And anyway, you weren't lost! You were off with your other colonies! _Dannazione_, put me down!"

Instead, Spain hugged his protectorate tightly. "Don't worry, little Italy," he whispered. "I won't leave you like that again. Never. I promise."

Romano was too shocked to fight back, and too surprised that Spain had called him Italy, so he allowed his caretaker to hug him. "I didn't miss you, _stupido_," he muttered. "Just so you know."

"Of course not," Spain chuckled. "I know."

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><p><strong>If my Spanish and Italian are wrong, blame Google Translate. If my history and my French are wrong, that's just me.<strong>

**I might have added Romano just to have Romano in here, heh o_o' and because I felt bad about making Spain feel all guilty... but next bit will follow shortly. Please review? It takes all of twenty seconds and it makes me so happy, like Holy-Rome-spastic-rolling-pillow-hugging-fit happy. Like how happy Canada would be if you not only noticed him, you took him out for an ice cream and told him he was the best country ever (which he is!). An 'I liked it' is wonderful, constructive criticism is heaven. Bye!**


	2. July 2, 1776

**And here we have a chapter devoted mostly to humor and featuring a couple of characters who I tried very, very hard not to base off the musical 1776. I don't think I quite succeeded. I showed my sister one of the songs from that movie- The Lees of Old Virginia- warning her that it would get stuck in her head forever. Even now, two years later, she occasionally walks up to me and tells me, "Damn you and your singing patriots".**

**(As I finished this, I swear my dad walked into my room and asked me if I wanted to come watch 1776. We hadn't been discussing it or anything, he just felt like watching it. The universe is absolutely freakin' crazy.)**

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><p>~July 2, 1776- Philadelphia, Pennsylvania~<p>

The onset of evening brought little respite to the city of Philadelphia. A heat wave had been battering them for weeks, resulting in the hottest summer anyone could remember, accompanied by a plague of horseflies. However, the weather had failed to still the currents that ran through the populace. The same words were being spoken throughout Philadelphia- whispered in the alleyways, shouted on the street corners, discussed heatedly in every business and home. It was if an electric current was filling the air. _Freedom! Independence! Revolution!_

However, in a small park near the center of the town, the mood was somewhat quieter and the air ever so slightly cooler. Only one person stood in the shade of the trees- he was maybe eighteen or nineteen, with a pair of glasses perched awkwardly on his nose and short, dark hair that he was nervously running the fingers of one hand through. The other hand clutched a sheaf of papers. He stood, just for a moment, under the trees, then began pacing again.

Occasionally, the young man looked up at the building across the street, the reason for his agitation. He had come out here to escape the stifling heat and the bitter arguments within; now he was beginning to regret his decision. He should be in there… He needed to know their decision…

He was startled from his reverie when the door of the building slammed and a figure rocketed out, shouting excitedly, "South!"

South spun to face him, his face drawn with worry. His pulse was racing as he demanded, "Is it decided? Have they done it?"

The breath was knocked violently from his lungs as his brother smashed into him, still shouting. "We've done it! They're signing it now!"

Suddenly all the doubts and fears that had been weighing on South vanished. Returning his brother's embrace, he started laughing and crying at the same time, breaking down in relief.

Grinning from ear to ear, the younger of the two brothers broke loose and began dancing wildly around the garden. At first South attempted to retain some semblance of his usual dignity; however, his brother's exuberance proved too infectious. Whooping loudly, he joined him. The two of them provided quite a spectacle, laughing joyfully in the middle of the streets of Philadelphia.

South stopped, still grinning, his hair wild, to look at his brother. "You realize what this means, North? We're free! Independent! New England and the South, all thirteen colonies. You and me, one independent nation! Together…" His voice trailed away as he gazed into the sky for a moment. When he spoke again, his tone was more somber. "Britain won't acknowledge it, North. You know that. And he'll fight like hell to keep us under his thumb."

North placed a hand on his older brother's shoulder. "He's not the only one who can fight. And we'll _beat_ him, South. I know we will. I _know_ it." Suddenly he was dead serious. "Together. And no one will be able to separate us, ever again."

South nodded, but did not speak.

His brief moment of solemnity over, North grinned at him. "You're wearing the glasses," he said teasingly.

The older brother went bright red. "I-I can't read without them," he stammered. "And since your friend Mr. Franklin is here, and he's the one who went to all the trouble of making them for me-" He frantically searched his mind for an excuse. "It's just common courtesy!"

North began laughing uproariously. He glanced at his brother's unamused face, set in an even more ferocious version of its typical scowl, and said, "Oh, lighten up! We're _free_!" As if suddenly remembering something, he straightened. "There's already a crowd in front of the hall, and they're just as anxious to hear the news as you were. Shall we go tell them?" Without giving him a chance to respond, he seized South's arm and dashed off, dragging his brother behind him.

The temperature inside hit South like a brick wall. Outside the air had finally begun to cool, but inside it remained stiflingly hot, all the building's shutters closed. As his brother pulled him towards the front door, however, he caught a glimpse through a door of a roomful of people. Yanking himself free, he stopped.

"Go on without me," he told North softly. "I need to go see this."

Shrugging, the younger America sped away, punching the air halfway down the hall with a silent whoop of glee.

Silently, South entered the room, slipping unnoticed along the back wall. A quiet murmur of conversation, only occasionally rising in volume, filled the air. He hung back, driven by politeness and the crush of bodies, content to watch from a distance as the delegates signed the piece of paper spread before them. From here he could just make out the words on top, but he had already read the document, already etched its contents into his memory.

_When, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the laws of nature and of nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation..._

It went on, but none of the rest of the document affected him like those lines did. They reminded him why he was here. What he was fighting for.

He glanced up as someone approached him. John Adamns crossed his arms and smiled at South. "Well, you're certainly excited." He chuckled quietly. "Although not like your brother is."

South grinned breathlessly. "God forbid. It's-" he took a moment to find the right word- "beautiful. I- I never really thought this would happen. I mean, I hoped, but…" His voice choked off, and he rubbed his eyes embarrassedly.

"You made the resolution on independence," Adams reminded him.

Removing his glasses, South continued to attempt to drive the moisture from his eyes. "No, no… the Virginia legislature did that. I might represent them, but it's up to them to take action- I'm sorry, this isn't particularly dignified..."

Adams pulled a handkerchief from his coat and offered it to his friend. "Don't be ashamed," he scolded him. "Be proud. You've just been set free."

A muffled roar arose from outside, and South grinned. "That would be my little brother, whipping up the crowd," he remarked. "Knowing him, he'll have the entire city celebrating in an hour."

"Well for heaven's sakes go join him!" Adams insisted. "Don't hang around with us old fogeys. You're a young man- go celebrate! In fact-" he paused. "I do believe that today might just be your first birthday."

South brightened, replacing his glasses. "It may well be," he murmured. "Are you sure you don't want us here?"

"Go," Adams shooed him away. "Before I kick you out of here myself."

South took a few steps away, then turned and embraced the other man momentarily. "Thank you," he said gratefully. Then he ran off in search of his brother, leaving John chuckling.

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><p>"Hey, North!"<p>

New England (who preferred to be called North or America, thank you very much) felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned. His older brother had emerged from the cheering crowd. Obviously their mood was affecting him, because he had a grin on his face the size of New York.

"You look happy," North remarked. "What blew up? And why didn't I get to see it?"

South laughed, clapping him heavily on the back. "Let's go get drunk," he said cheerfully.

"That is a good idea!" North agreed, returning the gesture. They laughed together, the sound lost in the jubilation of the people around them.

Somebody recognized them, and suddenly they were surrounded by people. Laughing, they pushed through the mass, arms over each other's shoulders. Words of congratulations were lost in the roar of the crowd.

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><p>"Can I get another one? Oh, thanks…"<p>

Grinning vacantly, North refilled his glass again. His brother gave him a look that was half concern and half disdain. "You know you're going to regret that in the morning."

"Ah, shut up and drink your little girl fancy whiskey."

"Bourbon," South muttered under his breath, contemplating how many more drinks he would have to buy to shut his brother up. More than he could afford, he decided, running his hands through his hair in his frustration. He'd have to deal with North's irritating laughter a little while longer.

_That's it,_ he thought. _I'm gonna need to get drunker._

Half an hour and several shots later, both brothers were singing loudly in the corner of the room. Eventually, North began an out-of-tune rendition of Yankee Doodle, causing a few other patrons to join in, laughing.

"Hey," one of them noted, "You're the nations, aren't you! You're us and such…" He hiccupped slightly. "Nicely done!"

At this revelation, there were a few scattered cheers and somebody ruffled North's hair fondly. He grinned loopily. "Yeah, that's us! North and South. America!"

"What are you two going to do now?" somebody asked. "I mean, now that we've declared independence. What next?"

"We fight," South declared brashly. "We stayed here because they needed us while writing the declaration. But tomorrow we're leaving for the field, to join General Washington. We're going to take up arms and fight like men!" he shouted. "Like brothers!"

There was a ragged, drunken cheer, but one man in the corner stood up. "Would you shut up?" he yelled angrily. "You 'patriots' and your insane talk of breaking away. Can't you tell that we're better off with England?"

The crowd around the nations booed, but North simply stood and took a step towards the man. South put a hand on his shoulder, pushed him back into his chair, and strode up to his accuser. He stared into his eyes, four inches higher than his own and near black to his clear blue. His voice was quiet and deadly. "We're better off with England."

The man glared at him. "Yes."

"Tell me, you bloody Tory," South continued. "What do you know about the Sugar Tax? The Stamp Tax? The Boston Massacre? What do you know about the money Britain forced us to pay in order to fund hi- their wars, taxes levied on us without our representation? Even before the war they were bleeding us dry. Now they've attacked us. Men are dying out there, dying for this country, while you stand here and deny it. You probably consider yourself a British citizen, right?"

The guy nodded, folding his arms across his chest.

"Well you're not," South spat. "They don't see you as one, and you aren't. And if you don't call yourself an American, you're not an American. So if you're not English, and you're not American, then what are you?" He gave the man a challenging stare, his eyes like blue steel.

"I'll tell you what you are. You're _nothing_."

Giving an angry yell, the other man shoved South hard in the chest, making him stumble backward. Catching himself, the nation sprang back, hitting the other man in the collarbone with the heel of his hand. In response, the drunkard slugged him in the face.

"BAR FIGHT!" North shouted, vaulting over the table and smashing into one of his brother's attackers' friends.

Somebody whooped. Immediately the room deteriorated into a melee, filled with a chaotic mixture of shouting, flying bodies, and shattering glass.

The two brothers ended up in the center of the room, back to back, South armed with a chair leg and North simply preferring to punch anyone who came too close in the face. He broke someone's nose with a straight left and laughed, "This is the best fun we've had in ages! Why don't we do this more often?"

"This is your fault!" South replied angrily, kicking a particularly angry-looking man in the chest and slamming him backwards into a table. "You and your stupid-"

"_My_ fault? I'm not the one who practically challenged that guy to a duel! I swear, every time somebody insults you, you go off about honor and all your rubbish."

"It was your honor I was defending this time," South snapped. "So it's your fault, you moron. Stay down you-" He bashed someone in the head with the chair leg.

North risked a glare at him. "Did I ask you to defend me? I can fight my own battles, you know!"

In response, South just gave him a wild grin. "But brother dear, it's so much more _fun_ when we fight together!"

His brother cackled gleefully. "And we always win! Now let's show these guys what we do as a team. On three, one-"

Each knowing that the other wasn't about to wait, they threw themselves into the fray on one, laughing like a pair of madmen; two slightly drunk brothers in their older teens, high on freedom and ready to fight for what they believed in.

Twenty minutes later the two of them were stumbling down the road laughing, somewhat bruised and sore, still drunk, and both having narrowly escaped the fight before they got too badly hurt. North stuck out his arms and spun around on one foot giddily, grinning up at the sky. "Well, now when the general asks me how I managed to get wounded before ever setting foot on a battlefield, I can tell him that I've already been injured fighting for this country's freedom," he remarked to his brother, beaming unfocusedly.

South let out a woozy laugh and ruffled his hair. "And I got my behind handed to me trying to keep you out of it," he giggled.

"Hey, wait a second! Defending my honor is one thing. But you were not trying to keep me out of it. You started it, you… what's the word… hippo-something."

"Hypocrite." South smirked at him, poking him in the chest. "But how is he gonna know who's telling the truth?"

North poked him back, jostling him with his elbow. "You blackmailer! You'd better not tell him anything of the kind!"

"And what if I do?" They continued to shove and prod each other good-naturedly down the road, yelping occasionally when their sibling hit a sore spot.

"Hey, South?"

"Yeah?"

"Um. Do you think they'll be able to put that fire out?"

"I'm sure they will, Northie. I really, really hope they will."

The night was peaceful, the heat of the afternoon long replaced by an unusually cool silence, belying the future that lay in wait only a few steps ahead on the path the two brothers had chosen that day; a future which all too soon would become the present.

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><p><strong>Ohmigosh you guys are the best. Thank you for the faves and alerts ^^ reviews, though? Please? *massive begging puppy eyes* Thirty seconds, that's all it takes. Anyway, the fact that people actually want to read my story is slowly chipping away at my performance anxiety. You guys are crazy for liking this and you make me a happy, happy author.<strong>

**Knowing me, I've fudged history a little bit in relation to dates and times. I think it's hilarious that the only thing I'm really sure of here is that the Declaration of Independence was signed on the second. Pfffft. I don't think my party crowd existed, but I needed this scene. It doesn't look important now, but it is. Trust me, I'm the author. This isn't actually filler.**


	3. Late Autumn 1776

**LOL just realized how random the last chapter was XD Sorry 'bout that. I needed some filler to show off the bromance between the Americas here. GAH REVIEWS I love you all X) you silly, silly people to read my silly story.**

**I already had this friendship in mind, but after the Christmas strips I just had to write it. Seriously, the image of Drill Sergeant Nasty Prussia yelling at America, ordering him to do pushups and laps exactly like Germany and Italy… perfect. Plus this (and some later stuff) gives me an excuse to bring Prussia in. And if I have an excuse to awesome, I have to use it. That's just the way it is.**

**This will be the first sign of the massive crushing angst that will show up. Oh, and by the way, yes, this story will be about the Civil War. Eventually. I promise. All will become clear.**

**I should point out that if you haven't read the 2012 Christmas special strips with America, this will make a lot less sense.**

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><p>"Now I want five more laps and then fifty pushups!"<p>

"Dude, it's still raining!"

"Then afterwards you can help get the camp ready for the rain!" The man in the long blue coat glared at his younger companion, his red eyes piercing the morning mist. "Waterproof everything. Including the water!"

"But-"

"NO BUTS, _DUMMKOPF_! Now if you ever want to kick that prissy girly-boy Brit's ass, then you need to toughen up! Be a man and run your stinking laps before I decide to teach you to fight the way my _Vati_ taught me!" The albino leaned down and stared the soldier in the face. "Or are you a man at all? Are you just a little girl who wants to fight the big baddie but hasn't got the guts?"

The young soldier snapped to attention. "No sir, Prussia!" he shouted. "Right away!" He turned and ran off through the rain, his boots throwing up mud as he splashed through the puddles.

Prussia stood silent until he faded out of sight; then his shoulders started shaking. He quivered harder and harder until he finally let loose a ferocious laugh, throwing his head back and clutching at his stomach. "He's so funny," he gasped. "No sir, yes sir, right away sir…"

South walked up behind him, trying desperately not to laugh. "You actually almost deflated his ego," he snorted, trying to hide his smile behind a hand.

"I know! I'm just that awesome! Nothing is impossible, and now you owe me money."

"I said almost," South argued, as they walked off together. "You don't win the bet unless you can actually do it."

"The awesomeness will make him cry like a little girl yet, don't you worry."

"I doubt it. The only one who ever managed that was…whatshisname. Canada. The one with that freakish bear."

"You really hate bears, don't you?" Prussia raised an eyebrow at him. "And isn't Canada your brother or something? The quiet one? And, well… he's fighting on Britain's side, _ja_?"

South entered one of the larger tents, stretching his arms over his head. "He's not really my brother. North's, maybe. They grew up together. I dunno, maybe we're related by blood, but we're not… aw, heck. We can't stand each other. And we don't share a border- we don't share anything." He ran a hand through his hair, rummaging through a bag and pulling out a canteen. "When he sided against us, it really hit North pretty hard, though. He pretends he doesn't care. He pretends he doesn't care about anything."

"Including Britain," Prussia remarked casually. "Both of you are doing that, actually."

South dropped the canteen on his foot and swore, glaring at Prussia. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you're pretending you don't care about him anymore." The albino folded his arms and looked at him. "That it doesn't hurt you to fight him. Canada made him cry? There might be awesomeness there that I have not yet discovered. I'll have to talk to him when this blows over."

"I _don't_ care." South sighed and sat down on a chair. "What makes you assume that this will 'blow over'? I don't think it ever will."

"I'm an old European, _mein Freund_. None of these fancy New World ideals and sentimental notions you've got, over there. I've fought dozens of wars, and quite a few against my best friends. We're still best friends. After a while, you get over it. _Und_ you care. Don't pretend you don't. That's something else I'm familiar with. I've fought wars against my brothers too." Prussia shucked off his long coat, sighing. "Don't forget, Hesse is on the other side here."

South glared at him, then his shoulders slumped. "You know what? I hate you. How do you do that? Make sense in such an annoying way? So that I can't argue against it?"

"I'm just that awesome," Prussia grinned. "Come on; tell _Onkel Preuβen_ how you feel."

The younger nation eyed his friend suspiciously. "You won't laugh at me? Because I know you, and you would."

Prussia placed a hand on his heart, feigning shock. "I am so hurt that you would think that of me."

"Alright." South leaned back. "Yeah. Yeah, it hurts. I love him to bits, my brother."

"Which one?" Prussia asked, propping his chin up on his hand.

"Both," South exhaled forcefully, frustrated. "That's the problem. I love both of them." He stared at the tent roof. "You know, when I was little, I used to live with Spain and France. Your two best friends, apparently. They used to fight over me… I was passed around all the time, like I was an object instead of a person. They loved me, but they didn't show it the way I needed them to. So I was a messed-up kid."

"You wouldn't know it," Prussia stared at him, as if analyzing him. "Your brother's pretty messed up, though."

"But the worst part of it was that I couldn't see my little brother. He was everything to me. He still is. We had to sneak out to see each other, stolen moments in secret places… and the one who got us out of that was Britain. He gave me my first real home, the first place I ever felt like I belonged. Like I was loved. He finally brought us together. You know North. He needs somebody to protect him when he's too stubborn and stupid. I promised him that would always be me. We swore back then, the three of us, that we'd never let anyone separate us again."

"Well, that's not what he's doing," Prussia remarked. "Britain, I mean. He wasn't trying to push the two of you apart, and even if you lose I doubt he would." He folded his arms again, watching South carefully. "You know, I never really understood why you're fighting. Your _bruder_, I get. He's obsessed with 'liberty', with the idea that Britain has wronged him in some way. You were never that passionate. So why do you fight, if not to keep your older brother from separating you and your younger brother?"

South stared off into the distance for a while longer, then said quietly, "Like you said. North believes in his cause, and he'll fight for it. That's good enough for me. And… after Britain, there will be more. There will be more times, in the future, when we'll have to fight to stay together. If we're free, one country, we can be strong enough to fight back. Not even all that much of my land is in this new country of ours. But as a united America, together, we might be able to win back a bit more of it. All my lands, united under one flag. Maybe someday, together, we could be great." He shut his eyes. "I'm not fighting against anyone. I'm fighting _for_ someone."

Prussia looked at the kid in front of him. He was young- for a country and for a human. Too young for war, too young to have to have chosen between two members of his family. The truth was, he wasn't sure he was telling the truth when he said that the war would be forgotten someday. There were things he'd never forgive people for. He sighed sadly. "_Gott, Junge. Du waren nicht übertrieben, wenn du sagtest du bist vermasselt_."*

South scowled at him. "Quit speaking German, you idiot. You know I don't understand you, and that pisses me off."

"Hey," Prussia looked more seriously at him. "I know where you're coming from, okay? I've got a little _bruder_ too. One I have to watch. He's not an idiot like yours, not really, but he's too lovesick all the time- always chasing after some girl he's apparently head over heels for- to worry about things like war and politics and the fact that he's slowly falling apart. He's hopeless. Still, I take care of him. Blood is thicker than water, _ja_?"

"I guess," South muttered. "But if ya-you have a younger brother that you're trying to protect, I feel very, very sorry for him.

Prussia stared at him, then grinned, his expression unbearably smug. "Oh, what's this? Did I hear a little slip of the tongue there? An accent, perhaps?"

Flushing bright red, South tensely replied, "No."

"Ja," Prussia snorted. "_Ja_, I did. So, little _Süden_ is not the cultured gentleman he says he is."

Still scowling, the American replied, "You're one to talk! You can't pronounce the letter W, for heaven's sakes. Don't lecture me about my accent."

"But why would you hide it?" Prussia shrugged. "Plenty of the soldiers here are Southerners. And so are some of your greatest heroes- including your great General Washington!"

"Yes," South muttered. "I guess. But don't pretend you're being some kind of psychologist, teaching me to accept my true self or something, because you only want to hear it because you think it's hilarious."

Prussia gave him puppy eyes, which was weird in the color red. "Aw, come on. That's not a very nice thing to say. Just once?"

South sighed, and rolled his eyes, then spoke in a radically different inflection. "Y'all are a dirtbag, Prussia. Go back to yelling at soldiers, where _your_ annoying accent serves some purpose. They'll do anything to get you to shut your potato trap. I do not have an accent," he finished in the voice he had been using before, crossing his arms and leaning back.

Prussia stared at him for a second, then began laughing hysterically. "Ja," he gasped. "Ja, you do."

"No, I don't," South replied flatly. "I have, like, five. Listen, it's some kind of weird side effect of the fact that my people speak at least three main languages. Half the time when I speak in my natural voice-" he shuddered. "I come out sounding like a _Cajun_."

"Quit trying to fool yourself, Yankee," Prussia snorted, putting his feet up on the small desk. "You have an accent-"

"Don't call me a Yankee," South snapped.

Prussia laughed at his expression. "But you are a Yankee!"

"Yankees are from the North," he muttered sourly. "I'm a Southerner. I'm THE South. I'm not a freaking Yankee."

The tent flap rustled, and a dripping, mud-splattered North pushed his way under the canvas. One look at his expression told Prussia not to ask him whether he had finished the drills.

"What's wrong?" South asked, regarding his brother with concern.

Wordlessly, the young nation tossed something onto the desk, keeping his eyes averted as if his hatred for the object was so much that he didn't even want to look at it. South picked it up, and sighed- a letter, damp at the edges, but still easily legible. It was from England, addressed to 'America'.

"He means you, you know," South commented.

North stood there, facing away from the two of them, clenching and unclenching his fists a few times before answering. "I know," he spat. "Another one of his letters. Whining at me to come back, to stop throwing my little tantrum, to be a good boy and come home and do whatever he says-" He whirled around, his vividly blue eyes flashing with rage. "How can he even do that? Who the hell does he think he is? It's like he thinks if he calls me I'll come trotting right back, like an obedient little dog!"

"Calm down, America-" Prussia attempted to intervene, but the angry young soldier wheeled on him.

"Can't you see? This is why I'm fighting! Everything has to be the way _he_ wants it. _He_ knows best, what _he_ wants is most important, more important than what I want or my feelings- I am so sick of him trying to live my life for me!" He slammed a fist down on the desk.

"You're being awfully cruel to that poor innocent desk," South remarked. He stood, and placed a hand on his brother's shoulder, then hugged him tightly.

"I know you're going to hate me for suggesting this but- well, you're right. He needs to let you live and make mistakes for yourself. But have you considered that maybe he's only trying to control you because he cares about you? Because he's afraid of what will happen to you if you make the wrong decision?"

North pulled away, his eyes conflicted. "I wish I could believe that was why," he said quietly. "But it's the other way around. He's doing this because the only one he cares about is himself." He regarded his older brother seriously. "I know that you still care about him, but you have to see that he's stopping us from ever being anything but what he wants us to be- his little servants, obedient to every whim."

For a second, South stared at him, then nodded. "If that's the way you feel, that's good enough for me. I'm fighting for you, North. Don't ever worry that I won't."

North gave a small smile and punched his brother in the shoulder gently. "And why wouldn't you?" he grinned. "After all, I am-"

"The hero!" both of the others said in unison, Prussia rolling his eyes and sending South a look of exasperation. They'd both heard this many times before.

"But I am! And the hero always wins!"

"Oh shut it, you narcissistic twit."

"What does that mean?"

"… Remind me how I'm related to you?"

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><p><strong>*God, kid. You weren't kidding when you said you were messed up.<strong>

**This is Prussia, being sensitive in his own awesome way. What? At least he said it in German! (Google Translate warning here, ha ha)**

**If the little tiny bit I wrote of South's accent is terrible… well, in my defense, I'm a half-Canadian Bostonian living in Virginia. This is how I hear Southern people. I'm sorry, Southern people. Also, I never really imagined him as speaking like a Texan or something. Especially since of the two brothers, he seems to be turning into more of the foppish one XD. He tries to tone down the accent because 1. People find the changing dialects confusing and 2. He doesn't like how people tend to prejudge him as stupid because of it. And that does happen. I used to know quite a few people up North who had literally trained themselves not to speak in their native Southern accent, including my MOTHER, because people assumed they were stupid. It's sad, really.**

**The Yankee thing is something my Georgian mom ran into with my Canadian dad. Don't ever do this, non-Americans. Even some New Englanders object (aka me, because I'm a Red Sox fanatic. w00t).**

**To my anonymous reviewer, the civil war- that's a very interesting suggestion. I might add something if/when this story ever gets to the civil war (ha ha).**

**HaruKirkland2337- yes, that will eventually play a part, but it won't be all. Slavery was important to the North and their cause, but both sides had very different reasons for fighting. Saying more would be spoiling some stuff I'll put in later, so that's all I'll say for now. X3 Trust me, I'm the author!**

**Long author note is long.**


	4. October 7, 1777

**ARGH WRITER'S BLOCK REWROTE THIS FOUR TIMES. This chapter takes place immediately after the scene in the closet cleaning arc, in case anyone is wondering. For purposes of the storyline, I am declaring that particular battle to be Saratoga.**

**YAY for reviews. And frankly, the fact that a couple of them are pointing out the flaws in this story makes me happier than ever. You guys are telling me how to make this better! Please keep telling me what I'm doing wrong! And thank you for the compliments as well. They mean a lot to me. (Also, HaruKirkland2337: 8| YOU CAN READ MY MIND. HOW ARE YOU DOING THIS. And to Miss? Georgia Pride- Yeah, North and South really are crazy different, aren't they? Also, New Yorkers=rude. Total agreement there.) Although, to anonymous reviewer 'I love this'- that's very true (and believe me, I don't intend to ignore the atrocities before and during the revolution) but it's also important to remember that Hetalia is all about making **_**characters**_** out of history. Some people, myself included, like to separate the countries from the characters a little bit more. It adds a layer of complexity, in my opinion.**

**And ORESAMA WHO ARE YOU I thought you were my friend but she denies it whoever you are you are awesome**

**(Plus, hehe, the more I look back at that accent bit in the last chapter, the more I hate it. Stereotypes, anyone? But I'll shut up now and give you story.)**

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><p>"News from the battlefield, sirs!"<p>

South looked up, and leapt to his feet, limping slightly as he crossed over from to a battered-looking but smugly grinning Prussia. He anxiously began, "Well, what happened? Why are you back? Where's-"

"Calm down, _Suden_," Prussia laughed, almost giddily. He nodded over his friend's shoulder to those still seated at the table where South had been. "_Herr_ General Gage. South." He looked back. "We were already doing well, you know that- but you'll never guess who just won the battle for us!"

"We won?" South stammered.

"General Arnold!" Prussia laughed uproariously. "He showed up, defying orders, slightly drunk, and rallied the men- and we pounded my brother into the dust!" He slung one arm over South's shoulder, and grinned irritatingly at General Gage, who was turning red. "Sorry we didn't send him back per your orders, sir, but he was an awful help. Major Armstrong finally caught up with us to order him back here, but by then the poor _dummkopf_ had fallen off his horse and gotten shot in the leg, so he's being carried here as we speak."

"We won," South repeated, grabbing the front of Prussia's uniform and shaking him back and forth slightly. "Please, can you say that sentence again about a dozen times? And where the hell is North?"

"I lost track of him during the battle, but they told me he had to follow up behind," Prussia said, his face falling for a second before he caught himself. Then he saw that South had recognized his expression, and quickly began, "I'm sure he's not that badly hurt-"

The dark-haired nation was already out of the tent, running off into the rain with a pronounced limp. With a sigh, Prussia nodded to the men behind him and followed his friend into the gathering darkness of the evening.

"North!"

Frantically, South shoved through the group of weary and wounded soldiers, calling his brother's name over and over. "North! AMERICA!"

Prussia somehow managed to catch up with him, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him to a halt. "Calm down, _um Gottes willen_! South, he's somewhere here. Don't worry!"

"They said he was hurt!" South said frantically. "I need to find him! Let go of me, dammit!"

"You're hurt too, _dummkopf_!" Prussia shouted in his face, his red eyes only inches from the other man's. "If- you-run- around- in- a- panic- you- are- going- to- hurt- yourself, _ja_? _You have a bullet hole in your hip_. You're a _nation_, South, not an _immortal_! Just because you heal faster doesn't mean-"

"I'm fine," South argued, shoving Prussia's arm away. "I'm fine, and I should have gone! This is my fault, Prussia!" His eyes were full of desperate fear. "I wasn't there and he got hurt!" He took another step, then doubled over, clutching his chest.

"You've done it now," Prussia muttered, grabbing his friend by the elbow. "Alright. We'll find him, and then both of you are going back to the doctors." He caught sight of an officer, and waved his arm. "Hey! Looking for the nation that went out with you!"

"In the back," the man replied.

South began running again, plowing through the crowd of soldiers who had been sent back from battle. He hastily scanned each of the faces that he saw, desperately searching for one in particular.

It was Prussia who found him, however. Stumbling along, covered in blood and dirt and almost indistinguishable from any of the other battle-beaten soldiers around him, half supporting and half being supported by a man with one eye heavily bandaged. Easily as broken and desolate as those around him.

"North!" South caught sight of Prussia's urgent gestures, and ran to his brother's side, catching him as he nearly fell.

Then his brother looked up at him, and he was shocked at the sheer despair in his eyes.

Prussia walked up behind South. He said nothing.

"_He_ was out there, wasn't he," South said softly. It wasn't really a question.

In response, North looked away. He motioned for his brother to allow him to stand on his own. Then, still not looking, he said in a flat voice, "We've won. Brigadier General Arnold drove them back. Called it a resounding victory."

Prussia shook his head. "You're not the only one in this war who has to fight their family, _Norden_-"

"Shut up," North interrupted. His fists clenched tightly. "Just- shut up, okay? I don't want to hear it."

"What happened to your musket, kid?" Prussia pressed him. "You do know you're supposed to fire it, not bludgeon the other guy?"

"Would you SHUT UP?" North spun around, and glared at him angrily. Then, looking away, he shouted, "We've won, alright? Finally, we actually won. Now can we please go? I'm tired. I'm hurt. I'd like to sit down and get out of this blasted rain and these damned boots." He pushed past the two of them, stumbling slightly but catching himself in time.

"_Was_ is wrong with him?" Prussia said confusedly, putting his hands on his hips. "I mean, for _Gott's_ sake, he just won. I was out there. It's the biggest victory you've had this whole war. We're sure to get France's help now, and maybe even Spain's. So why is he throwing a temper tantrum like a little girl?"

Without a reply, South ran after his brother.

With a sigh, Prussia threw his hands into the air. "Humph. Remind me why I'm helping these kids?"

"What happened?" South demanded.

"Get out of the way," North said in a low, dark voice.

"You're not leaving until I know what happened between the two of you out there," South snapped, pushing his brother back into the room. He had followed him here, to his own tent back in the excited confusion of the American army's camp. "Dammit, North, you're not acting like yourself."

"What does it matter to you?" North demanded.

South looked at him, his expression saying that his brother should already know the answer. "You're my brother, moron. I'm worried about you. And a victory this big shouldn't put you in this mood."

North glared at him for a few more seconds, then gave a frustrated sigh. "After fighting British soldiers all this time, fighting Britain himself really shouldn't have this much of an effect on me," he muttered.

"Of course it should," South countered. "America may be Britain's enemy; every British soldier may be America's enemy. But not every British soldier has personally betrayed Alfred Jones." He continued to watch his brother unblinkingly. Then he sighed. "I just wish they'd let me fight with you."

North winced slightly. "Please don't use my name, South. And it's not that. I don't know, okay? I just-" He abruptly slammed a small table with a fist, and let out a strangled noise of frustration. "I hate him!"

"You're caught up in the differences between our former brother and the country he represents," South said softly, sitting down in a chair. "You know that's alright, right-"

"I shouldn't be!" North wheeled on him furiously. "I hate Britain as much as I hate the British, okay? But…" His words petered out, and he sighed.

"What happened?" South asked again. "You need to tell me, North."

The younger American looked blankly at his brother for a few seconds. Then he shut his eyes.

"I didn't know he was going to be there, alright? And at first I was just… triumphant. I came out on top. I finally got to tell him to his face that I'm not going to be his precious little brother anymore." He buried his face in his hands. "But then everything went wrong… and he caught me off guard-"

South didn't say anything, but he cautiously placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. It was shoved off immediately, and he didn't try again.

Finally, North continued. "He could have done it," he whispered. "Could have shot me. Should have. But for some reason… he couldn't." To South's surprise, his brother began to cry. "Why not? Why not, South? Why is it that he doesn't want to fight me? After everything he's done, I know he hates me. What his people did to ours, what _he_ did to _me_-" He took in a shuddering breath. "Why is it so hard to fight him?"

"I don't-"

"It's not like he doesn't hate me," North spat, suddenly whirling around again. "I mean, look at what he's done in New York. And on the ships. That's not war. That's inhuman. So it's fine for him, to torture and kill our people, to lock them up in the worst pits of hell, but he can't shoot _me_?" He clenched his fists in frustration. "Even though the war causes me easily as much pain."

"This was never going to be easy," South reminded his brother despairingly. "Did you really think it would be?"

"Of course not!" North snapped. "But I didn't think it would be like this, either!" He sank into a chair, the fire draining from his voice.

"I just want to give up now, South," he sobbed, still crying. "I'm so sick of war. I'm sick of fighting."

South stared at his younger brother, then stood up and yanked him out of the chair by his shoulders. "Get a grip, for God's sake," he told North in disgust. "You can't give up! Not now!"

"But I can't keep doing this either, South," North sobbed. Now the tears were streaming down his face, but he barely seemed to notice. "I just want to give up. It hurts, so much. There's so little hope left. Every day, so many more dead. And most of them aren't even on the battlefield. They're dying slowly, sick and starving, locked up in _his_ prisons- some of them aren't even soldiers, some of them are even loyalists… and _I feel every one of them die_! You have to feel it too!" he said desperately. "It hurts, oh God it hurts… How do you do it? How are you always so strong, so calm? You've never wavered once, even though I can tell you don't really want to fight him. Hell, I know you're more or less a Tory at heart. How do you do it?"

"Do you think I don't hate this too?" South shouted, glaring at North. "Do you really think I want to fight?"

Then suddenly, he hugged his brother, and muttered tiredly into his ear, "This isn't over yet, North. You are _not_ going to stop fighting now."

North began to weep brokenly, pressing his face into South's battered uniform.

South just kept his arms tightly around his little brother, as the blond nation cried into his shoulder. "I know it hurts," he said gently. "I can feel it too. But you're not going to give up, North. I know you. The North I know and love doesn't give up. He doesn't let anything stop him. Even when there's not one little bit of hope left that any other man could cling to, he keeps fighting for what he believes is right."

South yanked his brother upright, his fierce gaze meeting North's tired, teary eyes. Both were exactly the same shade of brilliant blue. "Just remember, North. Never give up. Never surrender."

"Even to the last man standing," North said quietly, without enthusiasm, as if he'd said the words many times before.

"No!" To his brother's surprise, South shook his head. "Because no matter what-" he placed both hands on North's shoulders. "You won't be the last man standing. I'll be there with you. No matter what. I will fight for you. Even when we'll have to hold each other up, I'll stick with you." His voice was strong and resolute. "And together, as long as we don't give up, we can see this through."

The younger nation looked at him silently for a few moments. Then, a little bit of the old spark came back into his eyes, and he nodded. "Together." He rubbed at his eyes with one hand, and glared fiercely at South. "That damned Brit isn't going to make me give up."

"That's the brother I know," South gave him a grin. "Look at what you did today! We can win this, North. You won today. Prussia says this'll bring us allies in Europe, and that's a hope for tomorrow. But today? Today we beat those scum. And we're not going to lose anymore."

North smiled a little. "No. No, we aren't."

South nodded and gave his brother a smile that was not without a touch of smugness.

North grinned back and punched him in the shoulder. Then, laughing nervously, he said, "Hey, bro. You're not gonna tell anyone I was crying like a little baby, are you? Especially Prussia. I don't want him to think I can't take pain like a man. He'd never let me live it down."

South clapped him on the back, giving him a sideways smile. "Don't worry. I won't. We're going to do this, North."

"Even if it takes years," the blond brother whispered. "We'll keep fighting. Together." Then he gave his brother a sudden look of reproach. "Why the heck were you running around in the rain earlier?"

"They told me you were hurt," South grumbled. "They didn't mention it was just a case of the weepies and some bruises."

"Yeah, and you have a heck of a lot more than bruises!" North grabbed the other's arm, and began dragging him out of the tent. "You're going back to the hospital."

"What is it with you two and making it out like I'm dying?" South sighed, allowing his brother to lead him. "It's been two and a half weeks, genius."

"Not long enough! Besides, when you're in there I get to visit you, and that one nurse is cute."

South gave a disgusted snort. Then, suddenly, he came to a halt, and looked concernedly at his brother one last time. Softly, he said, "Just remember, North. We can't give up. It's not over yet."

"No," North said darkly. "No, You're right. It's just started."

**Benedict Arnold was a badass. But some more interesting facts.**

**Before Saratoga, almost everything the colonial army did, failed. Morale was more or less nonexistent. It changed the course of the war not just because other countries became their allies, but because it helped convince the Americans that they could actually win.**

**More American soldiers died in British prison camps during the war than in battle. A large number of civilians, some of them loyal to the British cause, were also imprisoned and died. Many of the worst prisons were in New York; also, many were imprisoned at sea. Conditions on the ships were so bad that the prisoners aboard one of them, the **_**Whitby**_**, chose to set the ship aflame rather than continuing to suffer. On the most notorious ship, the **_**Jersey**_**, the death toll over a three-year period is sometimes estimated to be as high as eleven thousand.**

**Poor America would have suffered that for over six years. Somebody please remind me how Hetalia is a funny, light-hearted show ^^;**

**(Also, in my little fanfiction universe, people know about nations, but their human names are secret. I know most people do it the other way around, yeah… oh, and South does have a name. Just not telling yet ^^)**


	5. October 19, 1781

**Pardon me, I think my writing is dripping angst.**

**Also, some violence here. Nothing particularly graphic, but if it bothers you, remember, this is ultimately a story about war. Plus a few naughty words on the cast's part. And a very… dark South.**

Finally, after six years, the end came.

But not the way any of them thought it would.

"It's funny," Britain rasped, grinning humorlessly. He raised one hand and weakly wiped away the blood that was running into his eyes from a cut on his forehead, then allowed it to fall back against his side and looked back to the soldier in front of him. "Somehow I always imagined that it would be your brother. Even when _this_ became inevitable, I never expected it would be you."

"Neither did I," replied South, not taking his eyes or his gun off the figure slumped against the rubble at his feet. His face was carefully devoid of all emotion. "But then again, you always used to say we were full of surprises."

Britain gave a dark, cracked chuckle. "That you are. You in particular, South. To be honest, I didn't think you'd fight. You never seemed to hate me as much as he did."

"I guess you were wrong," South said flatly.

"I suppose I was," Britain murmured, half to himself. "Because here we are. After all I did for your brother, he betrayed me. After I gave you a home, kept the two of you together, you sided against me." His gaze was defiant and angry. "After I loved you, you tore out my heart."

South had found the European nation here, wounded and alone, in one of the now-empty British redoubts. For the first time in weeks, the trenches around Yorktown were largely silent. Only the occasional blast of battle noise drifted through the air.

"It's over, brother," South said quietly. "You can't keep fighting. This is the end."

"Over?" A half-mad laugh split the air, blocking out the distant sound of gunfire. "You're not over with anything! You two have got a whole new beginning ahead of you. The freedom you've always wanted," he spat bitterly. "I'm the one who's finished. You know-" His voice cracked. "You two were all I had, and now I have nothing. Just shoot me and get it over with."

South met Britain's glare with his own quiet, steady look. "I'm not going to shoot you."

"Why not?" Britain grimaced as he struggled to rise, collapsing back on a leg that wouldn't bear his weight. "If you hate me enough to break my heart, kill me! What do I have to live for now? It'd be a mercy!"

The younger nation did not stir. Then, almost inaudibly, he said, "I don't hate you."

"Then why are you here?" Britain demanded brokenly. "Why start if you don't have the heart to finish the job?" Tears left streaks through the dust and battle grime on his face. "God damn you, tell me why!"

South hesitated. Then, slowly, he lowered his rifle, and allowed the bayonet to drag in the dirt.

Then man on the ground stared at him, his ragged, pained breathing the only sound either of them made.

Finally, South opened his mouth as if to speak, then shook his head and closed it again. His shoulders slumped, and he said simply, "You hurt North."

Britain didn't answer.

"Even though I… I never really wanted to break away," South continued. "I swore to protect him. From anything and everything. And if that means I have to protect him from the people I love- from you-" He took a deep breath. "Then so be it."

Somewhere off in the distance, cannon fire shook the air, and Britain winced at the noise. The spell of silence broken, he looked away, refusing to meet South's eyes. "Just finish this and be done with it," he said quietly, barely disguising the rage and hatred in his words.

Instead his former charge stepped back a few paces. "I hate this," he said. "But North needs me."

The other nation stared as South turned and began to walk away. "You'll fight for a cause you don't believe in because he does?" Britain said blankly. "Why?"

South stopped. Without looking back, he called, "That's what family does, England. Sometimes when you love someone, you choose them over yourself." His voice hardened. "If you'd ever really loved us, you would know. But then again, if you understood that-" He started to walk off again. "None of this would ever have happened."

For a few seconds, Britain sat there, stunned. Then, suddenly, he began shouting furiously after South.

"You are such a fool! You have no idea what it takes to be a country! You'll come back, sooner or later! Trust me, you will! As soon as you get tired of dealing with that blasted fool and his delusions of grandeur-"

South came to a halt like he'd hit a brick wall, and, sensing a weak spot, Britain hurled himself at it with all the strength he had left.

"You can't seriously trust him! All he ever does is throw himself into things with no thought for himself or the people who have to follow him- all he cares about is his own glory! How long will you be able to do it, South?" Britain's voice was cutting and harsh. "You're his protector. How long will you be able to protect him from himself? How long before he starts to take advantage of your loyalty, and uses you to make himself into the hero? Before he's telling you what to do all the time, because he knows best- after all, he's the _hero_-"

Faster than he could blink, Britain was lifted off his feet and slammed against the redoubt wall at his back. He bit back a cry as he heard something crack, probably his ribs, and a jolt of white-hot pain shot down his spine.

South's eyes were only inches from his, ice-blue and cold with fury. His voice was dangerously quiet.

"You _slime_. What do you know about him? What gives you the right to say that?" He shook the other man roughly. "My brother is a better man than you ever were. Better than you ever will be. And you claim you _loved_ him." South's anger had control of him now, and the words rushed from his mouth like he'd been trying to hold them back for far too long. "You treat his people-_our_ people- like dirt. You break your word, you deny him the rights he deserves, you attack his citizens- all he ever was to you was another colony. That's all _we_ ever were! A way to make money and gain more power for the _great_ and _mighty_ British Empire!"

Britain didn't answer, concentrating on not screaming as his injured leg dangled beneath him. His left eye would barely open, and the wound on his temple was making his head spin.

"In answer to your question," South spat, his voice full of hatred, "yes, I trust him. I trust him with my life, and the lives of all my citizens. I trust him to the end of the world and back again." He glared at the man in front of him. "I trust him the way he used to trust you, before you told him he didn't matter."

"What's wrong, South?" Britain managed to laugh harshly through the pain, even now able to summon up his sarcastic disdain. "Did I offend your precious honor?"

"You're _pathetic_," South said pityingly. "You can't even accept defeat gracefully." His eyes narrowed. "Maybe I should kill you. Maybe you do deserve to die."

Through gritted teeth, Britain replied, "Then do it!"

"South!"

In surprise, the nation turned to look over his shoulder. "France. Prussia."

"We saw you going off over here and thought you might need some help taking out the trash," Prussia remarked, apparently completely unperturbed by the situation in which he'd found his friend. The two nations had come around a corner in the redoubt twenty feet or so behind him, both of them looking battle-worn and weary (although somehow France's bright white coat remained nearly spotless). "South, it's over. The general has asked for terms of surrender. Your brother and General Washington are there now."

South stared back at them in disbelief. Britain said nothing, but inside, his last glimmer of hope faded.

France walked up to South, looking with disdain at Britain, who glared back defiantly. "What are you going to do with this bastard?" he asked contemptuously, folding his arms.

"Just kill me already," Britain hissed. "Before I have to listen to the bloody frog talk any longer."

South looked at him darkly, but then stepped back away from the wall, letting Britain fall. He gave a strangled yelp as he hit the ground, and lay there, breathing raggedly.

"You're not worth it," South said coldly.

"I'm not sure… whether to be insulted… or flattered," the British nation gasped.

South turned away. "Besides, it's not like I could actually kill you. You're a country, in case you'd forgotten. You don't die that easily."

"More's the pity," France muttered under his breath, sending his old enemy one last dark look and walking off. Over his shoulder, he called, "Come on, you two. Let's leave our little friend here for his own people to find."

Prussia placed a hand on South's shoulder, giving him a silent nod, and they walked away without another word.

Britain slowly shifted until his weight was no longer on his useless leg. He kept his eyes tightly closed- he had no intention of watching his foes leave in triumph. They would regret this. But first, he was going to have a long, painful wait here, until he either was found by one of his own soldiers who could help him, or he miraculously managed to walk out with a bullet hole in one leg. He almost wished that they'd decided to take him prisoner, no matter how shameful that would have been.

Suddenly, a weight hit him in the chest, bouncing into his lap. Opening his blurry eyes in surprise, he took in the canteen and an old, tattered sheet that looked like it had been through an artillery barrage, then glanced up.

South's face betrayed no emotion. "You won't die, but if you don't stop that bleeding you're not going to enjoy the consequences. I- I'll tell them where to find you." With that, he turned and left, his long blue coat's tattered edges fluttering around his ankles as he turned a corner out of sight.

Britain watched him go wordlessly. Suddenly, all his emotions- all that raging anger, all the bitterness, all his vows of vengeance- fled him. He was just tired. Tired and confused, and maybe a little bit sad, for some reason he didn't really understand.

"What happened to that little boy I used to know?" he whispered sadly. "You two grew up so fast, and now I've lost you."

He rested his head back against the wall, and began to cry.

**TTnTT Why am I doing this. Writing stories about families being torn apart. Why.**

**Just so you know, if this were a real book, there would now be a bit that says 'Part Two'. We have reached the end of setting up the story, yay~ And now the real plot will start up!**

**Prussia referring to taking out the trash is probably an anachronism. But I'm fairly sure I've already had America say 'Dude' at least once, so I'll just leave it in there ^^**

**The French really did wear white uniforms. WTF, France. By the way, there's an interesting (although probably not true) story that the British played a folk song called 'The World Turned Upside Down' at the surrender at Yorktown. There's actually a version of the lyrics which tell the story of the revolution, and it frankly fits this story quite well, in my opinion- you can find it here http: / www (dot) contemplator (dot) com / england / worldtur (dot) html**

**And after the battle the American and French officers entertained the British at dinner. Must have been awkward.**


	6. 1883 to 1887

**SO SORRY**

**SO SO SO SORRY**

**PLEASE FORGIVE ME OTL OTL OTL**

**I have nothing else to say.**

* * *

><p>Hotel d'York, Paris, France<p>

September 3, 1783

"There," Britain spat, slamming down his pen and shoving the piece of paper back across the table. His glare was pure venom. "I hope this… agreement is… to your satisfaction."

"I believe it will suffice," France answered, the barest detectable hint of smugness in his voice. He took the paper, examining the signature, then nodded. "Yes. Fishing rights, Senegal, Tobago…"

"Everything you negotiated is there," Britain snapped. "Now may I leave? I have things to do."

France took a step back, but from the corner of the room, another voice rang out, "Hold on one minute, Inglaterra. You've forgotten the most important reason we're here."

Spain grinned irrepressibly despite the death glare now focused on him, leaning nonchalantly against the wall. "I'm satisfied," he declared. "France is happy. But what about those two?"

Britain's glare wavered for a moment as it landed on the two indicated nations, then hardened into something far darker. "I have nothing more to say to them," he muttered. "Just let me sign whatever I have to and go."

The taller of them stepped forward, offering another rolled-up agreement. "Not a very wise course of action," South said quietly, avoiding Britain's eyes. "For all you know, you could be signing all your empire away."

"Too late," Britain snorted, snatching the paper. He scrawled across the bottom, then turned without another word and left, slamming the door behind him.

The American stood and watched him go silently, then jumped, turning in surprise as Spain clapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, why the long face, amigo? This is it! All you've been fighting for! Smile, South! You two are free!"

South did not reply for a second. Then, slowly, he grinned. "You're right," he said, his voice almost inaudible.

"Why are you being so quiet?" France laughed.

"I'm afraid if I speak any louder I'll make a highly compromising noise," South whispered, beginning to bounce up and down on his toes slightly. "Oh god, North, you look like you're about to explode…"

His brother had turned vividly red, attempting to hold his breath in. Then, suddenly, he let out a huge whoop and threw himself on the other nations. "YEEEEEES! THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE!"

"Free at last!" South laughed, embracing his brother. Both of them were beaming madly.

"Remember when we were this young?" France whispered to Spain, smiling.

Spain chuckled. "I did the same thing once," he replied quietly. "And funnily enough, a few months later a young man showed up with the craziest plan for a new trade route to India…"

"If you don't mind, I'd like to go now," a deep voice interrupted them. The last, taciturn member of the meeting was seated in the corner, one eyebrow raised ever so slightly at the spectacle of the two young nations giggling like excited children.

Spain turned in surprise, and laughed. "Of course, Netherlands! Let's all go! Let's go have fun together!" he said brightly (being Spain). "And find Prussia, too- it's been forever since I had a chance to be together with my two best amigos, and the little Americans are here too!"

"Of course we must go celebrate!" France agreed, draping one arm over North's shoulder and ruffling South's hair with his other hand. "After all, this is Paris!"

"I've never been in Paris before," North confessed, a little sheepishly.

France's expression of shock and dismay made all of them laugh. "Why didn't you tell me earlier? If this is your first time in the City of Light, we have so much to do! We must fall in love, break hearts, drink wine…"

Spain laughed as his friend drifted off, madly listing still. "Well, I'm quite happy," he announced brightly. "I've had my eyes on Florida for a long time."

"I will get it back from you someday," South pouted, punching Spain in the shoulder. "After all, we're independent now."

"And long live the United States of America!" the European nation declared flamboyantly, flinging his arms out. "May this be the first of many successes!"

"I'll drink to that!" North said cheerfully. "C'mon, let's go before the Frenchie gets lost in his own capital!"

They left the room, all chattering excitedly. South, however, lingered for a few seconds until he was sure he was alone. Then, suddenly, he punched the air, hissing an enthusiastic "Yes!"

A polite cough interrupted him.

South froze, then laughed awkwardly. "Uh, hey, Netherlands, didn't see you there..."

"Apparently not," the other nation said, looking at him in his inscrutable way from the corner. Then he stood, walking past South without another word.

South hurried out of the room after the others, pausing for a moment to giggle slightly before disappearing.

* * *

><p>Summer 1787<p>

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

The upside of the otherwise boring, repetitive life of employment at an inn is that every so often, someone interesting is bound to turn up. This week, the objects of the maids' fascination was a pair of men who were probably setting a record for the oddest patrons the place had ever seen.

They kept largely to themselves, for one thing. They ate their meals in a shadowed corner of the main room, whispering furtively to each other while glancing around suspiciously. Maybe they were in government? They carried an official air, and one of the girls had a friend who had even seen the taller one in town, walking down the street with James Madison, of all people! Talking like good friends!

Well, one thing about them was certain- their kinship. Their resemblance was uncanny; aside from an inch or two of height, slightly darker hair, and the fact that one wore a pair of battered glasses, a farmer's tan, and a serious expression, they were identical. And, more than one of the girls was thinking to themselves, rather handsome.

Whatever work they were involved in, it seemed to have been harder today. Both of them had stumbled in, an hour later than usual, and immediately ordered rather a lot to drink. They still spoke quietly to one another, but now they had abandoned their secretive atmosphere and were slumped in their seats, glaring at nothing in particular and everything in general.

"Okay, making governments officially sucks."

"Oh, shut up," South snapped, rolling his eyes. "Is it too much to ask, just this once in my life, for my brother to behave like a person who deserves the responsibility he has?"

North folded his arms on the table and slumped down, burying his face in his sleeves. "I'd just like to get this over with and go home. New York is calling meee…."

"You're just cranky because it's hot and you have to cooperate with people," South sighed. "Calm down. This shouldn't take too much longer. Then you can go back to your fish."

"Yeah, yeah," North snorted. "And you can go back to farming. Hick. Would just one open window be too much to ask?"

"It is a _secret_ convention, genius. No open windows."

"But it's hooooooot and there are flies and I am _so_ sick of Philadelphia in the summer," North whined plaintively. "And why the heck are we staying at this place? Everyone else is at the Indian Queen. They have whole _rooms_ there for playing cards. And for playing billiards!"

"The last thing I need is you gambling," South muttered, turning his empty glass over in his hands distractedly. "Really, North, don't worry. I think today was the last of the worst of it."

"I hate stubborn politicians," North said, his voice muffled by his arms.

South regarded him pityingly, one eyebrow raised. "I wasn't aware you hated yourself. Face it, if you had a vote in there you would've been the last one to give in. Thank God for Roger Sherman and men like him, is all I can say."

"Meh," came the sullen reply. "You're still wrong."

His brother slammed the table with a fist. "Dammit, North! You have no idea what you're talking about, so just shut up, for once in your life!"

North raised his head to glare at him. "_Property_," he said insolently, emphasizing the word, "does not count for congressional representation."

"You're the abolitionist nutjob at the table," South shot back. "Since when did you call it property?"

"It?" The blond brother sat up, angry. "The 'it' you're talking about, South, is slavery. Calling another human being an object. Buying and selling people- _people_, with thoughts and hopes and dreams and minds just like us! Forcing another person to obey your every whim, knowing that their life and death rests with you. That's _wrong_."

"The way you put it," South said, sitting back in his chair and pushing his glasses back up his nose with one finger, "you could very well be talking about us."

"That's completely different, South! Don't change the subject!"

He sighed. "I am trying to change the subject," South muttered, "because once you get on this one you never shut up."

"Damn straight!"

South looked across at his brother, heaving a second sigh. "I don't expect you to really understand," he said finally. "It's different, up in your house. You've got port cities, trapping, fishing, industry, trade- we have farms. That's about it. Now we're starting to lose even those. It's a way of life, North, and a bunch of people who have never been a part of it have no real right to walk in and demand that we stop it. That's oppression. The one thing you hate most. We started this country so everyone would have an equal voice, remember?"

"Well, you don't think everyone should, obviously," North huffed, folding his arms and closing his eyes tiredly.

"Neither do you, mister-don't-trust-the-idiot-masses. Can we please just stop now? I'm sick of the same argument I spent all day working out, and I'd like to go to bed. Twenty years and three fifths. Deal with it."

"It needs a Bill of Rights…"

"Oh, shut _up_!"

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry for short chapter<strong>

**Sorry for everything**

**Sorry, childhood, for making a character say he liked New York *dies a little inside***

**The problem with this is that I've been raised in a society where the smallest mention of slavery is so **_**awkward**_** and I can barely type the word**

**Also, I know my friend Darkeh will see a dirty joke in one line of dialogue here. Anyone else who sees it, well, good for you. I promise the next chapter will be longer and less late. I'm too tired to give one of my long history rants, so anyone who is confused here, just Google the Treaty of Paris or the Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia. Everything I used was really obvious.**


	7. Early 1800's

***sneaks onto FF***

***posts long overdue chapter***

***changes username in the hope that nobody will notice***

***okay guys let's all just pretend I was never gone for months***

***if there are any typos it's me being up late at night***

***sneaks away***

It was, America reflected, a beautiful day.

As he walked jauntily down the dirt road, he peered through the thin rows of young trees that lined it, across the deep green and gold of the fields beyond, and marveled at how much space there was. Space was becoming a valuable commodity up north; so much so that in recent years people had begun moving west by the thousands, striking out into the great unknown vastness that lay beyond the Mississippi. He had been out there, just once, while Jefferson was president; he still had fond memories of nights spent camping in the wilderness, laughing and telling stories with the men on the expedition (and of laughing his head off while watching his brother futilely attempt to teach one of their leaders, a man named Meriwether Lewis, proper spelling). However, unless you were willing to pack up and march across the prairie (which the government wasn't willing to let _him_ do just yet), most areas were crowded and overpopulated. The South felt so _big_.

It was maybe a little hot for his tastes; the late afternoon sun was merciless, and he was longing to get out of his stiff, uncomfortable business clothes. He had come straight here once he had finished up his business in the capital, and had promptly gotten lost on the way. He had only been here a few times, anyway; and how the hell did South expect him to find his stupid house with the ridiculous map he'd given him? Maps were silly and pointless, North thought to himself.

He began to whistle quietly as he walked, the crunching of his footsteps in the dirt and gravel providing a handy beat. He made his way a few bars into the song, fumbled the melody, recovered it triumphantly, and then realized he had forgotten the rest. With a shrug, he instead began whistling at the birds in the nearby treetops, repeating their calls back at them until they were all chattering angrily.

"That's what you get for being crazy enough to live somewhere this hot," he called out at them. Then he laughed at himself. Talking to birds? Who exactly was the crazy one here again?

To his relief, the long road resolved into a sweeping drive that lead up to an impressively large house built in the typical style of such houses down South, with lots of columns and two stories' worth of porch. It was large, and generally seemed designed to convey the idea that the owner was most likely rich and probably better than you. It commanded respect and expressed slight disdain, and managed both at the same time.

North let out a long, low whistle. Then, after a few seconds of admiration, he proceeded up the drive to the house's huge, shady wraparound porch (which, he snickered to himself, South probably called a veranda). He let out an audible sigh of relief as he passed into the cool shadows, and after a moment walked over to the door and raised the unnecessarily intricate knocker, letting it bang on the wood loudly three or four times.

After about half a minute, the door opened and a young, dark-skinned girl peeked out, then threw the door wide, ushering him in with an onslaught of "Good afternoon, sir, so sorry to have kept you waiting, sir, right this way, Master South will be with you in a moment, excuse me-"

America put his hands up, smiling defensively. "Whoa, whoa, there, miss! Calm down."

The black girl flushed, and then began chattering and curtseying with even greater enthusiasm than before.

"Mary, that's quite enough, thank you."

The girl's mouth snapped shut, and she bobbed another curtsey and scampered off into the shadows of the house.

America looked up at his brother, who was leaning on the railing of the huge staircase that swept across one side of the room. "Afternoon, South."

"You're mad at me," South remarked, not moving.

North scowled up at him. "That's stupid. Why would I be mad at you?"

"You disapprove."

"Of what?"

"Mary." South's voice remained even and nonchalant.

North made a frustrated motion with one hand. "Oh, come off it, South. Don't start that. I didn't come here to argue with you."

South's mouth twitched into a wry smile, and he stepped back from the railing, beginning to descend the stairs. "No, of course not. You came here to have some fun, and knowing you and your definition of 'fun', I'll wake up tomorrow with a hangover."

"Hell yeah!" North's face stretched into his typical ear-to-ear grin. "So get down here already."

South stepped off the last stair, and his little brother crashed into him, squeezing him so tightly he swore he heard his ribs creak.

"Okay, North, I've missed you too," he said awkwardly, sighing inwardly. "You can put me down now."

North winced, and stepped back. "Sorry, South. It's just-"

"It's been almost a year, I know," South grinned at him, and there was a sudden mischievous glint in his eyes. "Now are you coming or not?"

"Do you really need to ask?"

Inevitably, perhaps (yes, they were several centuries old, but they were also respectively about seventeen and twenty), they did finish off the night drinking. North made fun of his brother for preferring whiskey over beer; South commented scathingly on his sibling's 'lack of sophistication'. They argued jokingly, in the same way they'd always done.

Except, of course, that it wasn't the same at all.

The problem was politics. It always had been, of course; but lately it was worse than ever. The two of them were finally beginning to realize what a rapidly growing country entailed- work, and a lot of it. South hadn't been joking; the two of them hadn't had a chance to talk outside of brief meetings in the capital for near a year. It was an uncomfortable feeling, considering that since they were reunited as children they'd been inseparable for centuries, until now. The brothers were growing apart, and neither of them was quite sure how they felt about it.

Recent years, South reflected, had changed his brother. He stood a little taller now, although he was still an inch or two short of South's height. He looked older, and for the first time since the revolution there was a new fire in his manner, underneath his carefree and cheerful outside. It scared South a little, because he knew the new purpose that his brother had found, and he had his own interests. The two were not necessarily compatible.

North was also worrying about a change in his brother. He seemed slightly apprehensive today, and moodier than usual; he wondered whether it was just his mood today, or whether his brother had really changed in some way and their separation had stopped him from noticing.

On impulse, he elbowed his brother. "South, dude," he said, slight concern in his voice. "You okay?"

South looked at him like he was a moron, which was enough to reassure North that his brother was just fine. "What kind of question is that? Am I turning blue or something? Stupid Yankee."

North laughed, leaning on the table.

Impulsively, South raised his glass slightly. "A toast," he offered. "To cotton."

It was North's turn to look at the other like he'd just suggested a nice stroll through a field of broken glass, screwing up his face in confusion. "Cotton?"

"Think about it. We were still barely a country. You were trying to get industry up and running; I was trying to keep the farms from failing. Suddenly, along comes the cotton engine! It becomes lucrative to grow cotton in massive amounts, because it's easier for us to process and use it in your factories. My way of life and yours, both saved by cotton. Suddenly we have an economy; suddenly our government is stable." He clinked his glass on North's. "A revolution of industry. Thanks to cotton."

North shrugged, grinning. "Aw, heck, brother, I'll drink to anything. I've made weirder toasts in my day. Anyway, when I asked if you were okay, it was because you've been acting odd all day. Jumpy, kind of."

"Hmph," South snorted into his glass. "I'm expecting somebody, that's all."

"Expecting somebody? Who?" North looked in confusion at his brother for the second or third time that night.

South nodded over his brother's shoulder. "Him."

North turned awkwardly in his chair, trying to see what was behind him, and blanched slightly. "Uh, South? 'Him' wouldn't happen to be the large, menacing looking angry man with the group of large, menacing looking angry friends, would it?"

"That's the one," South said calmly. "And on the plus side, he hates me."

"Please tell me you're kidding," North muttered.

"America!" the man shouted angrily. "Nation! Get over here, you stinking-"

"That's my cue," South said, pushing his chair back and standing. "Come along, will you?"

"What did you do to this guy?" North whispered frantically.

South's mouth tweaked slightly into a smirk. "He said some rather rude things about me, so… I might have made some disparaging remarks in public about his… ah… family background. And his mother. And the way he smells."

North didn't have time to answer, because the man had arrived at their table. He had a good six inches on either of them, and unfortunately, whatever South had said about his smell was probably true. The drunken and slightly rowdy crowd in the room had turned its attention to him as he shouted at the two brothers.

_Figures_, North thought. _Out of all the guys he could have made an enemy of, he picks this one. Guess he is my brother after all_.

"You," the man growled, looming menacingly over South. "You've offended my honor."

South gave the man a long, contemptuous look. "I've got pretty good aim," he said finally, "but I'm not sure even I could hit a target _that_ small."

The man raised one hand furiously, then growled and lowered it. "I've come, as arranged. Now are you ready to die?"

"No," South said cooly. "However, I fail to see how that has any bearing on the situation. The correct question would be, 'Are you ready for this duel', and the correct answer would be yes."

The man glared at him, and then turned and walked towards the door, the crowd parting eagerly around him. South began to follow him, his face grim and determined.

North grabbed his brother by the shoulder and yanked him back, hissing in his ear, "You know, I'm kind of drunk and this is kind of hypocritical, but that sounds like a really, really bad idea."

"You of all people should know that this is not my first time in a duel," South muttered back.

"It's your first time after drinking four glasses of bourbon!"

South waved a hand dismissively. "It's not, actually. Oh, come on, North, what can he do?"

"Oh, I don't know- maybe shoot you?!"

"We're practically immortal, brother dearest," the older brother reminded him, as the crowd began pulling them outside, eager to see a fight. "I've been shot before. It will hurt. That's about it."

"How do you know you can't die?" North yelped at him. "Have you ever tried it?"

"No, and I don't intend to."

"This is stupid!"

"I know dueling isn't the style up North, but it's how we deal with things down here. And in case you've forgotten, I _am_ down here." South stepped out into the street outside, pulling his brother by the wrist. He gave him a sideways look. "I have the right and the responsibility to defend my honor. And aren't you the one who is always telling me to live a little?"

"Live, not die," North sighed, but he was smiling despite himself. "Alright, fine. Just don't get shot."

"No promises," South and his brother clasped arms, and then North stepped away. "And cheer for me, alright?"

"You've got it, captain," North saluted, then lost his balance and staggered a few steps to the right. Somebody in the crowd caught him, set him on his feet, and then gave him a backslap that nearly sent him face-first into the mud. He laughed and returned the gesture, then turned to watch his brother.

Someone offered South a pistol, but he turned it down, reaching down and tugging one from his boot. It was an old habit of his, one he'd developed back when his brother had first started showing his talent for annoying the wrong people.

While it may have been an old habit, however, it was a brand new pistol. South wasn't sentimental about old weapons, and he certainly wasn't strapped for cash. The other man had an old muzzle-loader, but South's gun was a Colt revolver.

The two men stood, ten paces from each other. The other man looked like he was beginning to regret his choice. South was nonchalantly checking over his gun, not even sparing a glance for his opponent.

"Alright," somebody shouted. "You two ready?"

Both of them nodded, South quiet and determined, the challenger sweating and red-faced. Both raised their guns at the other.

"Go on!"

The large man raised his arm, and fired his gun straight up into the night air. He took a step back, and looked expectantly at South.

The nation did not move, continuing to stare coldly straight down the barrel of his revolver at the other man, who abruptly went white. The crowd's shouting and jeering died away.

Something cold took hold in North's chest. What was South doing? He wasn't going to-

Then the nation unexpectedly took a step forward, and another. He walked right up to his trembling and now considerably less confident-looking opponent, who tried frantically to back away but tripped and went sprawling on his back in the dirt. He looked up pleadingly at the cold-eyed nation standing above him, his gun pointed directly at his heart, and began to whimper.

"Please, don't kill me. Have mercy. For God's sakes have mercy."

South remained silent, his mouth set in a thin line. His finger tightened on the trigger, and then pulled.

North's heart stopped, and before the gunshot had finished echoing he had pushed his way to the front of the crowd, desperate to see, not believing that his brother had just murdered an unarmed man in cold blood-

The man lay on the ground, still whimpering, now with his eyes shut and bawling his eyes out. The shot had hit the ground a foot from the right side of his head.

South glared down at him contemptuously, and put his gun away. "You are a waste of space," he said icily, "and a disgrace. You should be lucky that you're wrong about me. I'm honorable. You're just a sad excuse for a man. Don't ever let me see you again," he added, turning away without a glance back.

The crowd parted silently as South walked through, and his brother followed, silent. They didn't talk as they walked through the streets, until finally, South spoke.

"You know, you being quiet would normally be considered a sign that the world is ending," he said brightly. "What's eating you? I didn't die." He looked over at his brother, grinning. "And it's not like I killed him, so don't be like that. Just gave him the scare he deserved."

North didn't answer for a moment, then shrugged. "It's nothing," he said. "Just thinking."

"Oh dear," South chuckled. "Now I know we're doomed. Should I expect rains of fish?"

His brother gave a half-hearted laugh, but then looked away. South didn't attempt to restart conversation. He simply walked along, a certain spring in his step that hadn't been there earlier that night.

North walked along quietly, sneaking glances at his brother whenever he was looking away. The cold feeling had turned into a sickness in the pit of his stomach.

He had seen something in his brother tonight, something he'd never seen before. Something that scared him more than he cared to admit.

He looked at the person he thought he'd known better than anyone, and began to wonder whether he still knew him at all.

**Upon reading descriptions of Meriwether Lewis (who was apparently quiet and serious, but had atrocious spelling) and William Clark (brash and outgoing, with a fondness for maps), I couldn't help but think that Lewis would get along really well with South and Clark with North. South would try to teach Lewis spelling, and Clark would try to teach North about maps and geography. Neither would work.**

**Believe it or not, there's actually a reason they teach you about the cotton gin in school. It was important. Economics and stuff.**

**Dueling was introduced by the French during the Revolutionary War, and gained massive popularity in the South, despite being largely illegal. These laws were for the most part not enforced. Dueling was considered the only way to respond to an insult to one's honor, but as long as you did challenge them and showed up for the duel, you were fine- it wasn't uncommon to simply fire your gun off into the air. Guns were also notoriously inaccurate, at least until Colt came around.**

**Guys, I never meant to abandon this story. I took this summer off from writing fanfic, because I wanted to focus on an original story of mine, but when school came back around I had discovered Supernatural and become more involved with it and with Good Omens than Hetalia. I still love Hetalia, and I still want to finish this story. It ****_will_**** continue! But I'm currently doing NaNoWriMo and will be picking up with the next chapter in December. To the reviewer from earlier today: you are the reason this is up here now. Thanks for reminding me that I had this half-finished chapter waiting somewhere, and for reminding me to finish and post it. I promise there won't be any more long absences :)**


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